READING A POEM 



V/ILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY 




Class _lEE_5X_ir( 
Bnolc 7 R g 5 



COPyRIGHT DEPOSIT. 







14: 



This is one of an edition of Two Hundred 
Copies, printed August, 1903, of which this 
is 



READING A POEM 




\A/VA./jkc,J-^^' .--! 



READING A POEM 



BY 

WILLIAM MAKEPEACE 
THACKERAY 




NEW YORK 

A. WESSELS COMPANY 

1903 






7 / i 4 « ■ 



Copyrighted, 1903 

A. Wessbls Company 

New York 



Printed August, 1903 



DNIVERSITT PRESS • JOHN WILSON 
AND SON • CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A. 



NOTE 

ON the first of May, 1841, " Reading a Poem " 
began its appearance in the pages of " The 
Britannia," a weekly paper long since come to an 
end. It was issued under the title of " Loose 
Sketches," which was probably intended to apply 
to a series of similar tales. 

It was first reprinted by Charles Plumptre 
Johnson, among the Opuscula of " The Sette of Odd 
Volumes," London, May, 1891, fifty years after its 
first publication, and a limited edition was re- 
printed in 1897 by Mr. De Vinne. 

It is certain that this characteristic sketch had 
never been reprinted until its issue in the Opuscula 
of " The Sette of Odd Volumes," and that its orig- 
inal appearance has never been recorded, though it 
was specifically stated to be by " Mr. Michael An- 
gelo Titmarsh." 

Having regard to this, to the characteristic 
style and subject, to the familiar references to 
" Sir Edward " and Dickens, and the reappear- 
ance of the ever-welcome Yellowplush, and to 
Thackeray's rising popularity at that time, — when 
" The Paris Sketch Book " and " Comic Tales and 



NOTE 

Sketches " had both appeared in volume form, — it 
seems inexplicable that the sketch should have 
been so completely lost sight of. 

It is from a copy of " The Odd Volumes " re- 
print that the text for this issue is taken. 

The Opuscula of " The Sette of Odd Volumes," 
which now number nearly one hundred, dealing 
with as many different subjects, are among the 
rarest treasures of the collector of English pri- 
vately printed books. 

It is the prototype of the Club of Odd Volumes 
of Boston, the publications of which are as eagerly 
coveted by the collector of American privately 
printed books. 

It may not, therefore, be out of place, since we 
owe the resuscitation of Thackeray's jeu d'esprit to 
" The Sette," to give here a brief account of this 
unique Society. 

It was founded a quarter of a century ago when 
the late Bernard Quaritch, "the first Bookseller of 
Europe," as he was called, gathered about him a 
few congenial souls, all of them "born with the 
book-mark." They were in the habit of meeting 
informally at lunch every day in a quaint, old-fash- 
ioned London chop-house, and it was Quaritch 
who first suggested their forming the nucleus of a 
club. With twenty-one members, all of them be- 
lievers in the doctrine that "what the Publisher 

vi 



NOTE 

hath joined together no man should put asunder," 
the club was formed — the number of twenty-one 
being decided on because that is the number of 
tlie volumes in The Variorum Shakspere of 1821. 
The " Odd Volumes were to be united once a 
month to make a perfect Sette," the purpose of the 
union being conviviality and mutual admiration. 
But it has not degenerated into a merely convivial 
gathering, for at every meeting some member 
makes a literary, scientific, or artistic contribution 
to it, and these are privately printed for distribu- 
tion among the members and their friends in an 
attractive and artistic formdU which, although 
common to all, admits of distinctiveness and indi- 
viduality in the characteristics of each. They in- 
clude several important original contributions, as 
well as many re-presentations of forgotten works 
of merit or of curiosity. 

The rules and the procedure of the club are 
original and amusing. The Horatian motto, " Dulce 
est desipere en loco," is thus construed : 

Dulce — Delightful says the poet. 

Est — Is it ; right well we know it. 

Desipere — To play the fool. 

In loco — When we 're out of school. 

" Each odd volume pays on admission three- 
odd pounds and three-odd shillings ; the future 
annual subscription to be one-odd pound, eleven- 
odd shillings and sixpence, to be paid in advance. 

vii 



NOTE 

" No odd volume is allowed to talk unasked on 
any subject he understands. Discussions about 
anthropology, religion, and politics shall be put 
down by the president at liis pleasure. 

" Any odd volume losing his temper and failing 
to recover it is to be fined by the president the sum 
of five shillings. 

" No odd volume's speech shall last longer than 
three minutes ; if, however, the inspired 0. V. has 
any more to say, he may proceed until his voice is 
drowned in the general applause." 

Another rule is : " Any O. V. giving to another 
unasked advice shall be fined five shillings." Every 
odd volume wears a badge and the officers quite an 
imposing regalia at the monthly dinners, which 
are charming and stimulating combinations of the 
grave and gay, the lively and severe. A collection 
of the menus of the dinners eaten by the O. V.'s, 
as they call themselves, would be a valuable art 
gallery, nearly every artist of note having fur- 
nished designs for them ; and much wit is often 
displayed in the quotations and allusions which are 
interspersed. When dinner is served the president 
raps on the table with his gavel, and gravely pro- 
nounces the words, " Incipit felicita coena." When 
it is over he as gravely says, " Explicit coenum." 
During dinner there is much ceremonious health- 
drinking, and all the wit and wisdom of the Sette 
has unbounded play. The reading of the minutes 
viii 



NOTE 

of the last meeting, which are always conceived in 
a strain of " pretty wit," and the introduction of 
the guests give plenty of opportunity for fun and 
banter. When the reading of the paper of the 
evening, contributed by one of the members, to a 
liberal accompaniment of pipes and cigars and 
other digestives is over music and revelry are the 
order of the night. 

This quaint and curious dining club has enter- 
tained at its monthly dinners all the men famous in 
literature, science, and art by the attraction of 
cohesion — for its members are each of them men 
who are entitled to distinction in one or the other. 
To mention a tithe of these guests whose names 
are household words would fill a small volume, 
and prominent men from every quarter of the 
globe have been entertained by '* The Sette of Odd 
Volumes." Some very famous dinners have been 
given by the Sette. On one occasion the entire 
menu was in Chinese, in honor of some distin- 
guished visitors from the Celestial City. Then 
was heard a Chinaman replying to a toast in per- 
fect English, and an Englishman scarcely able to 
speak in his own tongue, having lived so long in 
a remote district in China. 

But to return to the constitution of the Sette. 
Each odd volume has a title which bears some re- 
lation either to his occupation, his profession or to 
his favorite hobby. Quaritch was perpetual libra- 

ix 



NOTE 

lian to the Sette, which has its herald, historio- 
grapher, typographer, attorney general, stationer, 
antiquary, alchemist, art critic, necromancer, chap- 
man, bard, parodist, bibliographer, rhymer, pilgrim, 
leech, apothecary, etc. 

The membership of twenty-one was speedily 
completed, and the Sette now consists of twenty- 
one volumes and twenty-one supplemental volumes. 
As death creates a vacancy in the former, the oldest 
su2:)plemental becomes an original, and thus the way 
is made for the admission of new blood into the 
Sette. 



EEADING A POEM 

By MR. MICHAEL ANGELO TITMARSH 

IN TWO PARTS 

List of Characters 

LoBD Daudley, the Earl of Bagwig^s eldest son, 
a worshipper of the Muses ; in a dressing-gown, 
with his shirt collars turned down. 

Mb. Bogle, the celebrated publisher; in a pub- 
lisher's costume of deep black. 

Mr. Bludyer, an English gentleman of the press ; 
Editor of the " Weekly Bravo'' ; green coat, 
red velvet waistcoat, dirty blue satin cravat, 
dirty trousers, dirty boots} 



1 This actor should smell very much of stale smoke, and need 
not shave for two or three days before performing the part. 
1 1 



LIST OF CHARACTERS 

Mr. Dishwash, an English gentleman of the press ; 
Editor of the " Oastalian Magazine" ; very 
neaty in black, and a diamond pin. 

Mr. Yellowplush, my lord's body servant; in 
an elegant livery. 

Voices without. The door-bell. 

Nicholas, my lord's tiger. 

The Scene is Lord Daudley's drawing-room in 
the Albany. 



PART ONE 

The door-hell (timidly). Ting, ting. 

YELLOWPLUSH (in an arm-chair 
before the fire reading the " Morn- 
ing Post^^). "Yesterday, at St. 
George's Church, Hanover Square, by 
the Lord Bishop of Lawn, the Lord 
John Fitzwhiskers, to Amelia Frances 
Annabel, the lovely and accomplished 
daughter of Samuel Botts, Esq., of Port- 
land Place. After an elegant dejeune at 
Lord Tuf ton's mansion in Cavendish 
Square, the happy pair set off — " 

The door-hell. Ring, ting, ting. 

Yellowplush. Where 's that hidle 
Nicholas ? The bell 's been going it 
these ten minutes, and distubbing me 
at my studies. — "The happy pair set 



READING A POEM 

off for a tour on the continent, and in- 
tend, we hear, to pass the carivan — no, 
the carnival at Naples." And a pretty 
junny they'll have of it! Winter — 
iniondations at Lyons ; four mortial days 
on board the steamboat! I've been the 
trip myself, and was half froze on the 
rumble. Luckily Madamselle Leocadie, 
my lady's maid, was with me, and so we 
kep' warm, but — 

The door-hell. Ring-aring-ring-ring. 

Yellowplush {in a voice of thunder). 
Nicholas, you lazy young raggymuffian! 
do you hear the bell? Do you want to 
wake my lord? 

Nicholas {without). This way, sir, if 
you please. 

DiSHWASH {entering) . Thank you, Nich- 
olas ; I am afraid I disturbed you. Never 
mind, I 've not been there long. Thank 
you; just put my galoshes to the fire, 
will you, like a good lad? for it's bad 
wet weather. 

4 



READING A POEM 

Yellowplush. 0! it's only one of 
them littery chaps; I wonder how my 
lord can have to do with such. Let us 
go on with the news. — " On Thursday, 
Mr. F. Hogawn, of Peckham Rye, to 
Mary Jane, daughter of John Rudge, 
Esq., of the same place." Why can they 
put such stuff in a genteel newspaper? 
Is that you, Mr. Dish wash? Pray do 
you come by appointment? My lord 
ain't up yet, but you may as well set 
down. There 's yesterday's paper some- 
where about. 

DiSHWASH. Thank you, Yellowplush; 
and how goes it, my fine fellow; any 
more memoirs, eh? Send me the proofs, 
nay boy, and you shan't want for a good 
word, you know. 

Yellowplush {pacified). Thank you, 
in return; and here's to-day's "Post." 
I 've quite done with it; indeed, my lord 
has kep' me here this half hour a por- 
ing over it. I took him his pens, ink, 
and chocklate at eleven; and I b'lieve 

5 



BEADING A POEM 

he's composing something in his warm 
bath. 

DiSHWASH. Up late, I suppose? There 
were three great parties, I know, last 
night. 

Yellowplush {aside). How the juice 
should he know I 

DiSHWASH. Where was he, now? Come, 
tell me. Was it at Lord Doldrum's or 
the Duke's? Lady Smigsmag had a 
small conversazione, and very select, too, 
where I had the honour to pass the even- 
ing, and all the world was on the lookout 
for the famous Lord Daudley, who had 
promised to come and read us some of 
his poems. 

Yellowplush. His poems! his gam- 
min! Since Lord Byrom's time, cuss 
me if the whole aristoxy has not gone 
poetry-mad, and writes away like so 
many common press men. What the 
juice do they write for? they can't do 
it half so well as the reg'lar hacks at 
the business. 

6 



READING A POEM 

DiSHWASH. 0, you flatter us, Yellow- 
plush, that you do. 

Yellowplush. I say they canH do it 
as well; and why do they go on? TJiey 
don't want money, as you and I do, Mr. 
What 's-your-name — Mr. Dish wash. I 
suppose you only write for money, do 
you? If you were a gentleman, now, 
confess, would you ever put pen to 
paper! I would n't, I know. But there 's 
my lord's bell, and so you can just look 
over the junnal till I return. We made 
a pretty good speech in the House of 
Commons last night, as you will see. 

\_Exit. 

DiSHWASH. Vulgar, low-bred upstart! 
That creature, now, has all the vices of 
the aristocracy, without their virtues. 
He has no idea of the merit, the dignity 
of a man of letters, and talks of our 
divine calling as a trade, and dares to 
treat me, a poet and a man of letters, 
on a footing of equality. Ah, for the 
time when men of our profession shall 

7 



READING A POEM 

take their rank with the foremost in 
the land, and the great repubUc of genius 
shall be established. I feel it in my 
heart — the world demands a republic; 
genius will never prosper without it! 
All men are equal, and we, above all, 
ought to be the equals of the highest, 
and here am I spoken to, familiarly, by 
a lackey! I, who am — 

Bludyer {ivlio has entered with his hat 
on during Dishwash's speech^ and slaps 
the latter on the shoulder) . You are very 
little better. Confess, now, old buck, 
was n't your mother a washerwoman, and 
your father a linendraper's clerk I 

DiSHWASH. No! It's a calumny, Blud- 
yer, — a base falsehood. 

Bludyer. Well, then, what are they! 

DiSHWASH {sulkily). What's that to 
you? 

Bludyer. There, now, you great noodle, 
you. You calumniate your own parents 
more than any one else does, by being 
ashamed of their calling, whatever it 

8 



READING A POEM 

may be. Be a man, now, and don't 
affect this extra gentility, which all the 
world laughs at. Be a man, and act like 
me ! Do you suppose / care who knows 
my birth and parentage? No, hang it; 
anybody may have the history of Jack 
Bludyer. He doesn't go sneaking and 
cringing to tea parties; he^s no milk- 
sop. Jack Bludyer, I tell you, can drink 
seven bottles of claret at a sitting, and 
twice as many glasses of whiskey-and- 
water. I 've no pride, and no humil- 
ity, either — I don't care to own it. I 
back myself, look you, Dishwash, and 
don't give the wall to the first man in 
Europe. 

Dishwash. I wonder what brings you 
here, then, my good fellow I 

Bludyer. The same thing that brings 
you — interest, my fine fellow, and worthy 
Dishwash; not friendship. I don't care 
a straw for any man alive ; no more do 
you, although you are so sentimental. I 
think you a fool about many matters — 

9 



READING A P E 31 

don't think you such a fool as to admire 
Daudley's poems. 

DiSHWASH {loohing round timidly) . He ! 
he! he! Why, between ourselves, they 
are not first-rate ; and entre nous, I know 
who wrote the best part of them. There 's 
not a single passage in the " Death-knell ; 
or the Lay to Laura," that 's worth read- 
ing, but, between ourselves, I wrote it. 
Don't peach, now; — don't betray me. 

Bludyee. Betray youf There 's not 
a single passage in the ' ' Death-knell ; or 
the Lay to Laura," that's worth two- 
pence, but /wrote it. You — you 've as 
much strength as milk-and-water, and 
as much originality as a looking-glass. 
You write poetry, indeed! You don't 
drink a bottle of wine in a year. Hang 
me if I believe you were ever drunk in 
your life. 

DiSHWASH. I don't profess to believe, 
my good sir, that drunkenness is an essen- 
tial poetic qualification, or that Helicon 
is gin-and-water — he, he! and if ever 

10 



READING A POEM 

you had read my little book of " Violets," 
you might have found that out. 

Bludyee. Violets be hanged! I say 
juniper-berries. Give me a good vigorous 
style, and none of your namby-pamby 
milk-and-water. Do you ever read my 
paper! If you want to see what power 
is, look at that. 

DiSHWASH. Indeed. The fact is, I 
never do read it. 

Bludyer. Well, you 're right, you 're 
right. I never read anything but what 
I'm forced to read, especially if it's 
written by my friends. I like to think 
well of them, Dishwash, and always con- 
sidered you a clever fellow, till I read that 
absurd ode of yours about a heliotrope. 

Dishwash. It 's quite as good as your 
ballad in last Sunday's "Bravo"; and 
my poor article in the " Castalian " is, 
I am sure, as strong as yours. 

Bludyee. Oh, you Imve read the 
"Bravo," have you? What a fool I 
am, Dishwash, — a great, raw, silly fool. 

11 



READING A POEM 

Upon my word and honour, I believed 
you what you said; but it will be a 
lesson to me, and I won't, my boy, do 
so again. 

DisHWASH. Insufferable coarseness ! 
How goes the "Bravo," Bludyer? 

Bludyek. We 're at 3,500. 1 don't ask 
you to credit my word, but look at the 
stamps. 

DiSHWASH. Your advertisements pretty 
good? 

Bludyer. For six months they made 
a conspiracy against us in the Row ; but 
we beat 'em. You of the " Castalian," 
I know, go on the puffing plan: we are 
a new paper, and take the tomahawking 
line. I tell you, sir, we 've beat the book- 
sellers, and they are all flocking to us. 
Last week I attacked a new book of 
Fogle's so severely — a very good book, 
too, it was — very well and carefully 
done, by a scholar and a clever man. 
Well, sir, I belaboured the book so, that 
Fogle came down to our place with tears 

12 



READING A POEM 

in his eyes, and a whole bundle of ad- 
vertisements, and cried ^^ Peccavi.^^ The 
abuse of that book will be worth £300 
a year to the "Bravo." But what is 
gratitude? If I, who have done our pro- 
prietors that service, get a five-pound 
note for my share, it is all I can look 
for. What rascals publishers are, hey, 
Dish wash? — Are we to be kept here 
for ever? How long have you been 
waiting? 

DiSHWASH. Why, a quarter of an hour, 
or may be longer. 

Bludyee. That's the way with you 
all. You cringe to these aristocrats. 
Curse them; take them by the horns, 
and be a man. You have waited an 
hour ; see, now, how Daudley will admit 
me. (Me. Bludyee kicks against the 
panels of Loed Daudley's bedroom door, 
and shouts.) Hallo! Daudley — Lord 
Daudley; don't keep me here all day! 
I 've got some proofs of the " Bravo " 
to read to you, and can't wait. 

13 



READING A POEM 

Yellowplush {putting his nose out). 
You can't come in ; my lord 's in his bath. 

Bludyer (through the door). Well, I 'm 
off, then ; and, by Jupiter, my lord, look 
to yourself. 

Yellowplush. My lord says that, 
if you don't mind seeing him in his 
dishybeel, you may come in to him, Mr. 
Bludyer. 

Bludyer {to Dishwash). There, 
spooney! didn't I tell you so? 

Dishwash. Use a little more gentle- 
manly language, Mr. Bludyer, if you 
please. 

Bludyer. G-entlemanly language? 
Hang it, sir, do you mean I 'm no gentle- 
man? Say so again, and I '11 pull your 
nose. 

Yellowplush. My lord 's waiting, Mr. 
Bludyer. [ They go in. 

Dishwash. I wonder whether he would 
pull my nose, now — the great, coarse, 
vulgar, gin-drinking monster ! It is those 
men who are a disgrace to our profes- 

14 



READING A POEM 

sion; and, with all his affectation of in- 
dependence and bluntness, I know that 
man to be as servile a sycophant as crawls. 
Oh, for a little honesty in this world; 
and oh, that the man of letters would 

understand the dignity of his pro 

Nicholas (tvitJiout). Mr. Bogle. 

Enter Mr. Bogle. 

Mr. Bogle. My appointment's at 
eleven, and tell his lordship I must see 
his lordship soon, if he can make it con- 
venient. I've fourteen other calls to 
make on the tip-top people of the town. 
Ha! Dish., how are you? I've fourteen 
other calls — fourteen volumes of poems, 
by fourteen dukes, duchesses, and so on, 
down to baronets; but they're common 
now, Dish., quite common. Why, sir, 
a few years ago I could sell an edition 
with a baronet's name to it; and now 
the public won't have anything under 
an earl. Fact, upon honour ! — and how 
goes on the " Castilian," hey. Dish wash? 



READING A POEM 

DiSHWASH. The " Castalian,^^ Mr. Bogle 
— he, he ! You sell books, but you don't 
read them, I fancy I 

Bogle. No more I do, my boy — no 
such fool ; I keep a man to read them — 
one of your fellows. 

DiSHWASH (sneeringly). O, yes — Did- 
dle ; I know your man well enough. 

Bogle. Well, sir! I pay Mr. Diddle 
three hundred a-year, and you don't 
fancy I would be such a flat as to read 
my books when I have a man of his 
experience in my establishment. Have 
you anything to say against Mr. Diddle, 
sir? 

DiSHWASH. Not a syllable; he is not 
exactly a genius — he, he ! — but I believe 
he is a very estimable man. 

Bogle. Well, I tell you, then, that 
he has a great deal to say against you. 
Your magazine is not strong enough in 
its language, sir. Our books have not 
their fair chance, sir. You gave Fogle's 
house three columns last week, and us 

16 



READING A POEM 

only two. I '11 withdraw my advertise- 
ments if this kind of game continues, 
and carry them over to the " Aperian." 

DiSHWASH. The " Pierian " ! Why, our 
sale is double theirs. 

Bogle. I don't care ! I '11 have my 
books properly reviewed, or else I'll 
withdraw my ads. Four hundred a-year, 
Mr. Dishwash ; take 'em or leave 'em, as 
you like, sir. But my house is not going 
to be sacrificed for Fogle's. No, no. 

Dishwash. My dear good sir, what in 
conscience can you want now? I said 
that Lady Laura Lippet's " Grleanings 
of Fantasy" were gorgeous lucubrations 
of divine intellect, and that the young 
poetess had decked her brow with that 
immortal wreath which Sappho bore of 
yore. I said that no novelist since the 
days of Walter Scott had ever produced 
so divine a composition as Countess 
Swanquil's " Amarantha." I said that 
Lord Cutthrust's account of the mili- 
tary operations at Wormwood Scrubs 
2 17 



READING A POEM 

was written with the iron pen of a 
Tacitus. 

Bogle. I believe you, it was written 
well. Diddle himself wrote the whole 
book. 

DiSHWASH. And because Fogle's 
house published a remarkable work, 
really now a remarkable history, that 
must have taken the author ten years 
of labour — 

Bogle. Don't "remarkable history" 
me, sir. You praise all Fogle's books. 
Hark ye, Dishwash, you praise so much 
and so profusely, that no one cares a 
straw for your opinions. You must 
abuse, sir; look at Bludyer, now — the 
" Bravo '"s the paper for my money. 
See what he says about the famous his- 
tory that you talk of {tahes out a paper 
and reads): "Senseless trash; stupid 
donkey; absurd ignoramus; disgusting 
twaddle; " and disposes of the whole 
in a few lines — that's the way to crush 
a book, sir. 

18 



READING A POEM 

DiSHWASH. Well, well, I will abuse 
some poor devil to please you. But you 
know if I am severe on one house, I 
must be so on another. I can't praise 
all your books and abuse all Fogle's. 

Bogle. Of course not, of course not; 
fair's the word; and I'll give you a list 
now of some of my books which you may 
attack to your heart's content. Here — 
here 's a history, two poems, a volume 
of travels, and an essay on population. 

DiSHWASH. He, he, he! I suppose 
you publish these books on the author^ s 
account, hey? 

Bogle. Get along, you sly dog ! What ! 
you know that do you I You don't sup- 
pose I am such a fool as to cry out 
against my own property. No, no ; leave 
Tom Bogle alone. 

DiSHWASH. Well, I suppose you are 
here about Lord Daudley's new volume? 

Bogle. "Passion-Flowers!" there's 
a title! there 's no man in England can 
invent a title like my friend Diddle. 

19 



READING A POEM 

" Passion-Flowers, by the Lord Daudley, 
with twenty illustrations on steel; " let 
my lord put his name to it, and I'd 
make my fortune, sir. It 's nothing ; he 
can get anybody to do the book; you 
could knock it off yourself, Mr. Dish- 
wash, in a month, for I Ve heard Diddle 
say that you 've a real talent that way. 

DiSHWASH. Did he now, really! that 
Diddle 's a clever fellow. 

Bogle {musing). Twenty plates — red 
velvet binding — four thousand pounds. 
Yes, I could give my lord eight hundred 
pounds for that book. I '11 give it him 
for his name ; I don't want him to write 
a word of it. 

DiSHWASH. No, no, of course; you 
and I know that it must be done by 
one of us. Well, now, suppose, under 
the rose, that I undertake the work I 

Bogle. Well, I have no objection; I 
told you what Diddle said. 

DiSHWASH. And about the terms, ay, 
Bogle I 

20 



READING A POEM 

Bogle. Why, though there are half- 
a-dozen men about my place who could 
turn out the work famously, yet I should 
like to employ you, as Diddle says you 
are a clever man. My terms shall be 
liberal. Yes, let me see, I '11 give you, 
for seventy short poems, mere trifles, 
you know — 

DiSHWASH. A short poem often re- 
quires a deal of labour, Mr. Bogle. Look 
at my " Violets " ; now, there 's a sonnet 
in that book dedicated to Lady Titterton, 
whom Sultan Mahmoud fell in love with, 
which took me six weeks' time. You 
must remember it; it runs so: — 

" As 't is his usage in the summer daily, 
Impelled by fifty Moslemitish oars, 
With crescent banners floating at the mast, 
And loyal cannon shouting from the shores, 
The great Commander of the Faithful past 
Towards his pleasure-house at Soujout Kal6. 
Why turns the imperial cheek so ashy pale ? ' ' 

Bogle. O, never mind your verses. 
You literary men are always talking of 

21 



READING A POEM 

your shop ; nothing is so vulgar, my good 
fellow, and so listen to me. Will you 
write the " Passion-Flowers, " or will you 
not? If you choose to do me seventy- 
two sets of verses (the time is your look, 
you know, not mine), I'll give you six- 
and-thirty guineas. 

DiSHWASH. Six-and-thirty guineas ! 

Bogle. In bills at one, two, and three 
years. There are my terms — take 'em 
or leave 'em. 

Yellowplush {entering). Gentlemen, 
My Lord. 

Lord Daudley and Bludyer enter. 

Daudley. Charles, get some soda-water 
for Mr. Bludyer. 

Bludyer. And some sherry, Charles. 
I was as drunk as a lord last night. 

Daudley. Bludyer, you compliment 
the aristocracy. 

DiSHWASH. Ha, ha, ha! Very good, 
isn't it, Bogle I 

22 



READING A POEM 

Bogle. Is it? yes! ha, ha, ha! 
cap'tal. 

Bludyer. Not so bad, Daudley: for 
a lord you are really a clever fellow. I 
don't say it to flatter you — no, hang me ! 
I flatter nobody, and hate the aristoc- 
racy; but you are a clever fellow. 

DiSHWASH. It is a comfort to have 
Mr. Bludyer' s word for it, at any rate; 
he, he ! 

Bludyer. Well, sir, are you going to 
doubt Mr. Bludyer's word? Give me 
leave to tell you that your remark is 
confoundedly impertinent ! 

Yellowplush {going out). Oh, these 
littery people ! What inf urnal coarseness 
and wulgarity! 

Daudley. Come, come — no quarrel- 
ling. You fellows of the what 's-his-name, 
you know — what we used to say at Oxon, 
you know, of the genus irritahile, hay! 
Bludy, you must be a little more plac- 
able; and Washy, your language was a 
little too strong. Hay, Bogle, you under- 

23 



READING A POEM 

stand % I call these two fellows Bludy and 
Washy; and as for Dishwash, if I don't 
call him Washy, I '11 call him Dishy, hay I 

Bogle. Capital! capital! You '11 kill 
me with laughing; and I want to talk 
to your lordship about the " Passion- 
Flower" business. 

Daudley. Your rival bookseller, Mr. 
Fogle, has been with me already about 
the book. 

Bogle. What! with my title I The 
scoundrel ! My lord, it 's a felony. You 
are not going to lend yourself to such 
a transaction, I am sure. Fogle publish 
the "Passion-Flowers"! I'll prosecute 
the unprincipled ruffian; I will, as sure 
as my name is Bo 

Daudley. To a goose. Fogle is not 
going to publish a book called " Passion- 
Flowers"; but he has a project of a 
little work, bound in blue velvet, con- 
taining twenty-two illustrations on steel, 
written by the Lord D' Audley, and called 
" The Primevera." 

24 



READING A POEM 

Bogle. The what? It 's a forgery all 
the same. I '11 prosecute him — by all 
the gods, I will! 

Daudley. Well, well, we have come 
to no bargains. Entre nous, you pub- 
lishers are deuced stingy fellows. 

DiSHWASH. He, he, he ! 

Bludyek. Haw, haw, haw ! Had you 
there, old Bogle ! 

Daudley. And that rascal only offers 
me six hundred pounds. 

Bogle. I '11 give six-and-fifty. 

Daudley. No go. 

Bogle. Seven hundred, then? 

Daudley. Won't do. 

Bogle. Well, make it eight hundred, 
and ruin me at once. 

Daudley. Mr. Bogle, my worthy man, 
my terms are a thousand pounds. A 
thousand pounds, look you, or curse me 
if you get a single " Passion-Flo wer " out 
of George Daudley. 

Yellowplush (entering). Mr. Fogle, 
my lord, the publisher. 



READING A POEM 

Bogle. What? 

Yellowplush. Mr. Fogle, my lord, 
according to appointment, he says. Shall 
I show him in? 

Daudley. Yes, you may as well. Yes, 
certainly. {Aside.) Egad, he's come 
just at the proper moment! 

Bogle. Stop, my lord ; pray stop one 
minute. That ruffian follows me like 
my shadow. Show him into the study. 
For heaven's sake, let me say a word. 

Daudley. Show Mr. Fogle into the 
study, Charles. {Exit Yellowplush.) 
Well, now, my worthy man, what have 
you to say? 

Bogle. Well, then, my lord, just to 
keep your name upon my lists, I '11 make 
the money nine hundred. 

Daudley. Sir, give me leave to tell you 
that your offer is impertinent. Charles ! 

Bogle {drawing out a paper). Very 
good, then ; here 's the agreement Sign 
this; a thousand pounds, the MSS. to 
be delivered in three months, half the 

26 



READING A POEM 

money on delivery, the rest in bills at 
three and six months. Will that suit 
you? No I Say two hundred pounds 
down. Here's the money. 

Daudley. Egad, this will do! Here, 
I '11 sign it, and let our two friends here 
be witnesses. 

Bogle. But, my lord, a word with 
you about — about the writing of the 
poems. Will you do them, or shall we? 
There is a capital hand in our house, 
who could knock them off in a month. 

Daudley. Upon my word, this sur- 
passes everything I ever knew. Do you 
suppose I am an impostor, Mr. Bogle? 
Take your money and your infernal 
agreement, and your impertinent self, 
out of the room. 

Bogle. A million of pardons, my dear, 
dear, dear, dear, dear lord; I wouldn't 
offend your lordship for the world. Come, 
come, let us sign; you will sign? Here, 
where the wafer is. I 've made my clerk 
copy out the agreement; one copy for 

97 



READING A POEM 

me and one for your lordship. There, 
there 's my name " Henry Bogle." And 
here are the notes, of which your lord- 
ship will just acknowledge the receipt. 
Please, gents, to witness this here under- 
standing between his lordship and me. 

DiSHWASH (signs). "Percy Dishwash."\ 

BijUBYKB (signs). " John Bludyer." J 
Of course, you give us a dinner, Bogle? 

Bogle. Oh, certainly, some day. 
Bless my soul! twelve o'clock, and I 
have an appointment with Lady Man- 
trap at half -past eleven! Good-bye, my 
lord, my dear lord. Good-bye, Dish. 
Bludyer, you owe me ten pounds, re- 
member, and our magazine wants your 
article very much. Good-bye, good-bye. 
good-b — 

[Here the door shuts on Me. Bogle. 

DiSHWASH. Well, the bargain is not a 
bad one. Do you know, my lord, that 
Bogle had the conscience to offer me six- 
and-thirty guineas for the book which 
will bring you a thousand! 

28 



READING A POEM 

Daudley. Very possibly, my good fel- 
low, but the name's everything. I have 
not the vanity to suppose that I can 
write much better than you, or Bludyer 
here. 

DiSHWASH. Oh, my lord ! my lord ! 

Daudley. No, indeed, really now, I 
don't think so. But if the public chooses 
to buy Lord Daudley' s verses, and not to 
care — 

DiSHWASH. For poor, humble Percy 
Dish wash — heigho! you were in the 
right to make the best bargain you can, 
as I should be the last to deny. 

[Mr. Yellowplush here enters tvith Mr. 
Bludyer's soda-water. P-f-f-f-f-f-f-op 
whizz. Mr. Bludyer drinks. 

DiSHWASH. But where is Fogle all this 
while! You should have had him in 
and pitted him against his rival. 

Daudley (archly). Ask Charles. 
Charles, you rogue, why do you keep 
Mr. Fogle waiting! 

29 



READING A POEM 

Yellowplxjsh. Mr. Fogle 's non inwen- 
tuSy my lord. He never was there at all, 
gentlemen ; it was only a de ruse of mine, 
which I hope your lordship will igscuse, 
but happening to be at the door — 

Bludyer. And happening to be listen- 
ing! 

Yellowplush. Well, sir ! I confess I 
was listening — in my lord's interest, in 
course; and 1 am sure my stepping in 
at that moment caused Mr. Bogle to sign 
the agreement. My lord won't forget 
it, I trust, and cumsider that, without 
that sackimstans, he might n't have made 
near such a good barging. 

[Exit Yellowplush. 

Daudley. No, I won't forget it, you 
may be sure. Master Charles. And, egad, 
as soon as I have paid the fellow his 
wages, I'll send him off. He's a great 
deal too clever for me ; the rogue writes, 
gentlemen, would you believe it? and 
has just had the impudence to republish 
his works. 

30 



READING A POEM 

DiSHWASH. Never mind him, my dear 
lord; but do now let us hear some of 
yours. What were you meditating this 
morning? Confess now — some delight- 
ful poem, I am sure. 



31 



READING A POEM 



D 



PART TWO 

AUDLEY. Well, then, if you 
must know the truth, I was scrib- 
bling a little something — just a 
trifling thought that came into my head 
this morning, as I was looking out at the 
mignonette-pot in my bedroom window. 
You know it was Lady Blanche Blue- 
nose that gave it me, and I promised her 
a little copy of verses in return. " Well," 
says I, thinking over my bargain with 
that fellow Bogle, " as I have agreed to 
write something about flowers, my little 
poem for Lady Blanche's album will 
answer for my volume too, and so I shall 
kill two birds with one stone." That's 
the very thing I said; not bad, was it! 

Bludyer. Not bad'? devilish good, by 
the immortal Jove. Hang me, my lord, 
but you 're a regular Joe Miller. 



READING A POEM 

DiSHWASH. Really now, Lord Daudley, 
you should write a comic novel. Some- 
thing in the Dickens style. 

Daudley. I should n't wonder if I did ; 
I've thought of it, Dishwater, often. 
" The New Novel of Low Life, by Lord 
Daudley," hay I forty illustrations by 
Whiz; it wouldn't sound badly. But 
to return to the " Passion-Flowers." 

DiSHWASH. We are all ear. 

Bludyer. Not all ear. Dish.; a good 
deal of you is nose. 

Daudley. Mr. Bludyer, for heaven's 
sake, a truce to these personalities, if 
you have a mind to listen to me. I told 
you I was thinking in bed this morning 
about Lady Blanche's present, and the 
poem I had promised her. " Egad ! " 
says I, starting up in bed, and flinging 
my green velvet night-cap very nearly 
out of the window, " why should I not 
write about that flower-pot?" 

Bludyer. And a devilish good idea, 
too. 

3 33 



READING A POEM 

DiSHWASH {aside. Toad-eater!) Oh, 
leave Lord Daudley alone for ideas. 

Daudley. Well, sir, I instantly rung 
my body-fellow, Charles; had my bath; 
ordered my chocolate; and, with the 
water exactly at ninety-two, began my 
poem. 

Bludyer. Oh, you practise the hot- 
water stimulus, do you, my lord? And 
so do I; but I always have mine at 
Fahrenheit — boiling, my lord, as near 
as possible. 

Daudley. Gad now! you don't say 
so? 

Bludyer. Boiling, yes, with a glass 
of brandy in it — do you take? Once, 
when I wrote for the Whigs — you know 
I am Radical now — I wrote eight-and- 
thirty stanzas at a sitting. And how do 
you think I did it? By nineteen glasses 
of brandy-and-water. That's your true 
Castalian, ay, Dishwash? But I beg 
your pardon for interrupting you in 
your account of your brilliant idea ; tell 

34 



READING A POEM 

us more about the "Flower-Pot," my 
lord. 

DiSHWASH. The verses, the verses, my 
lord, by all means — positively, now, I 
am dying to know them. 

Daudley. Oh, ah, the verses — yes — 
that is — why, egad ! I 've not written 
down any yet ; but I have them here in 
my brain — all the ideas, at least, and 
that 's the chief thing. 

Bludyer. Why, I don't know ; I don't 
think it 's of any use to have ideas, or too 
many of them, in a set of verses. 

Daudley. You are satirical, you rogue 
Bludyer, you — dev'lish satirical, by Jove. 
But the fact is I can't help having ideas, 
and a deuced many of them too. My first 
idea was to say that that humble flower- 
pot of mignonette was more precious 
to me than, egad! all the flowers in a 
conservatory. 

Bludyer. Very good and ingenious. 

DiSHWASH. Very pretty and pastoral; 
and how, my lord, did it begin? 

35 



READING A POEM 

Daudley. Why, I begin — quite mod- 
estly you know — 

"My little humble flower-pot " — 

and there, egad! I stuck fast — for my 
bell began a cursed ringing; and pres- 
ently this monster of a Bludyer came 
and kicked down my dressing-room door 
almost, and drove poetry out of my head. 
So as you served me so, why, gentle- 
men, you must help me in my ode. I 
want to say how it looks out into Picca- 
dilly, you know, and on St. James's 
Church, and all that. 

Bludyee. Excuse me, that will never 
do; say it looks out on your park in 
Yorkshire. Mrs. Grange the pastrycook's 
window looks into Piccadilly just as well 
as your lordship's. You must have some- 
thing more aristocratic. 

Daudley. Egad ! yes, not bad. Well, 
it shall look into my park at Daudley. I 
thought so myself ; do you like the idea, 
ay gentlemen? You do like it, I thought 

36 



READING A POEM 

you would. Well, then, my flower-pot 
stands in a window, and the window is in 
a tower, and the tower is in Daudley Park, 
and I begin — 

My little humble flower-pot, 
My little hum 

DiSHWASH. Upon my turret flaunting 
free, — flaunting free ! there 's an expres- 
sion! — there's a kind of laisser oiler 
about it. 

Bludyer. 

My little humble flower-pot, 
Upon my turret flaunting free, 

Thou art more loved by me I wot, 
Than all the sweets of Araby. 

Daudley. Stop, stop! — by Gad, the 
very thing I was going to say ; I thought 
of "I wot" and "Araby," at once, only 
Bludyer interrupted me. It was n't a bad 
notion, was it I {Reads) Hum, hum, — 
' ' flower-po^ — flaunting free — by me I 
ivot — Araby. ''^ Well, I've done for that 
idea, at any rate, — now let 's see for 
another. 

37 



READING A POEM 

Bludyer. Done with that already? 
Good Heavens, Daudley, you had need to 
be a lord, and a rich one, to fling about 
your wealth in that careless kind of way, 
— a commoner can't afford to be so prodi- 
gal; and, if you will take my advice in 
the making of poems, — whenever you 
get an idea, make a point of repeating it 
two or three times, thus : — 

Not all the sweets of Eastern bower — 

Daudley. Egad, the very words out 
of my own mouth — {writes) "Eastern 
bower " — 

Bludyer. 

Are half so dearly prized by me, 
As is the little gentle flower — 

Daudley. 

" Pot, in my turret flaunting free." 

That 's the thing. 

DiSHWASH. Why no, my dear lord ; if 
I might advise, it's well to repeat the 

38 



READING A POEM 

same sentiment twice or three times over, 
as Mr. Bludyer says. In one of Sir 
Edward's tragedies, I counted the same 
simile fourteen times, but at intervals of 
two or three pages or so. Suppose, now, 
instead of your admirable line — 

Bludyeb. Which divides the pot from 
the flower, you see. 

DiSHWASH. We say — 

As is the little gentle flower, 

The mignonette that blooms in thee I 

Daudley. Bravo ! — eight lines already. 
Egad, gentlemen, I 'm in the vein. 

Bludyee. There 's nothing like back- 
ing your luck in these cases, my lord, and 
so let us throw in another stanza, — 

My little dewy moss-grown vase 
Forth from its turret looks and sees, 

Wide stretched around the park and chase, 
The dappled deer beneath the trees. 

Ha! what do you say to that? There 's 
nothing like the use of venison in a 

39 



READING A POEM 

poem — it has a liberal air ; now let 's 
give them a little mutton. I presume 
you feed sheep in your park, Lord Daud- 
ley, as well as deer I 

Daudley. O, yes, 'gad! and cows too 
— hundreds of them. 

Bludyek. 

Beside the river bask the kine, 

The sheep go browsing o'er the sward ; 

And kine, and sheep, and deer are mine, 
And all the park calls Daudley lord. 

Daudley. It does nH, my dear fellow — 
egad, I wish it did — but, till my father's 
death, you know — 

DiSHWASH. Bagwig is a sad unromantic 
name for a poem. 

Daudley. Well, well, I '11 yield to my 
friends, and sacrifice my own convictions. 
I '11 say Daudley, then, and not Bagwig. 
And, Dishwash, you may say everywhere, 
that in my poem of the "Flower-Pot" 
you suggested that alteration. ( Writes) 
" And all the park calls Daudley lord." 

40 



READING A POEM 



Bludyee. 

Safe sheltered in thy turret nook, 
My gentle flower-pot, 't is thine 

Upon this peaceful scene to look. 
The lordship of My ancient line ! 

Rich are my lands and wide they range — 

Daudley {ivlio twites altvays as Blud- 
YER dictates). "Eich are my lands, and 
wide they range." Egad, they 're devil- 
ishly mortgaged though, Master Blud- 
yer; but I won't say anything about 
that. 

DiSHWASH. Bravo ! Capital ! 

Bludyer. 

Rich are my lands and wide they range, 

And yet I do esteem them not, 
And lightly would my lordships change 

Against my little flower-pot. 

DiSHWASH. Whew ! 
Daudley. Come, come, Bludyer, that 's 
too much. 

Bludyer. Not a whit, as you shall 

see — 

11 



READING A POEM 

By wide estates I set no store, 

No store on sparkling coronet ; 
The poet's heart can value more 

This fragrant plant of mignonette. 
And as he fondly thinks of her, 

Who once the little treasure owned, 
The lover may the gift prefer 

To mines of gold and diamond. 

Isn't that, now, perfectly satisfactory! 
You are a lover, and your mistress's gift 
is more precious to you than Potosi; a 
poet (and that you know you are), and a 
little flower provokes in you — 

DiSHWASH. Hopes, feelings, passionate 
aspirations, thoughts that do often lie too 
deep for tears. Holy memories of bygone 
times, pure as the innocent dew that 
twinkles in the cup of the flower; fra- 
grant, mysterious, stealing on the senses 
as — as — 

Daudley. Exactly so. You are per- 
fectly right, egad ; though I never thought 
that I had those feelings before. 

DiSHWASH. Oh, it 's astonishing how 
the merest trifle serves to arouse the vast- 

42 



READING A POEM 

est thoughts: and, in such a way, my 
hint might aid your lordship. Suppose 
we continue: — 

My mild and winsome flower-pot I 

Bludyer (aside). Mild and winsome ! 
there's affectation! but let the epi- 
thets pass, they 're good enough for a 
lord. 

DiSHWASH (continuing). 

My mild and winsome flower-pot, 

As — let me see — as on thy dewy buds I gaze, 
I think how different is my lot 

Unto my sire's in ancient days. 
Where softly droops my bonny flower, 

My free and feathery mignonette, 
Upon its lofty, ancient tower, 

The banner of my race was set. 

Daudley. "Race was set." Bravo! 
we'^'re getting on, — hay, Bludyer? But 
you are no hand at an impromptu, like 
Dishwash and myself; he 's quite beaten, 
I declare, and has not another rhyme for 
the dear life. 

43 



READING A POEM 

Bludyee. Not another rhyme ! my dear 
lord, a dozen; as thus: — 

Where peaceful roam the kine and sheep, 
Were men-at-arms with bow and bill ; 

Where blooms my flower upon the keep, 
A warder blew his clarion shrill. 

And now for the moral : — 

Dark memories of blood and crime, 
Away ! the poet loves you not. 

Ah me ! the chieftains of that time, 
Had never seen a flower-pot.^ 

Daudley. Bravo, bravissimo! Six 
stanzas, by the immortal gods! Upon 
my word, you were right, Bludyer, and I 
was in the vein. Why, this will fill a 
couple of pages, and we may get the " Pas- 
sion-Flo wers " out in a month. Come 
and see me often, my lads, hay I and, 
egad! yes, I'll read you some more 
poems. 



1 A poem very much of this sort, from which the writer con- 
fesses he has borrowed the idea and all the principal epithets, such 
as " free and feathery," " mild and winsome," etc., is to be found 
in the " Keepsake," nor is it by any means the worst ditty in the 
collection. 

^l.cfC. 44 



READING A POEM 

DiSHWASH. Two o'clock, heaven bless 
me ! My lord, I really must be off to my 
office, I have several columns of the 
" Castalian " to get ready before to-night. 
As I shall be very much pressed for time 
and copy, might I ask, as the greatest 
favour in the world, permission to insert 
into the paper a part of that charming 
little poem which you have just done us 
the favour to read to us. 

Daudley. Well, I don't mind, my 
good fellow. You will say, of course, 
that it is from Lord Daudley' s forthcom- 
ing volume of " Passion-Flo wars " ; and, 
I am sure, will add something, something 
good-natured, you know, in your way, 
about the projected book. 

DiSHWASH. Oh, certainly, with the 
greatest pleasure. Farewell, my dear 
lord, I must tear myself away, though I 
could stay and listen to your poetry for 
hours; there is nothing more delightful 
than to sit by a great artist, and watch 
the progress of his work. Good-bye, 

45 



\ 



READING A POEM 

good-bye. Don't ring, I shall find the 
way quite easily myself, and I hope 
you will not be on any ceremony with 
me. 

Daudley. Good-bye, Dishwash. And 
I say, come in sometimes of a morning, 
like a worthy fellow as you are, and per- 
haps I may read you some more of my 
compositions. {Exit Dishwash, hoiving 
profusely.) A good useful creature, that, 
ay, Bludyer I but no power, no readiness, 
no vis. The fellow scarcely helped us 
with a line or a rhyme in my poem. 

Bludyee. a good-natured milksop of 
a creature, and very useful, as you say. 
He will give you a famous puff in the 
"Castalian," be sure. 

Daudley. As you will, I am certain, 
in the " Bravo." 

Bludyek. Perhaps, perhaps; but we 
are, as you are aware, in the satirical vein, 
and I don't know whether our proprietors 
will allow me to be complimentary even 
to my own — I mean, to your works. 

46 



READING A POEM 

However, between ourselves there is a 
way of mollifying them. 

Daudley. As howl 

Bludyee. By a bribe, to be sure. To 
be plain with you, my lord, suppose you 
send through me a five-pound note to be 
laid out in paragraphs in the " Bravo." I 
will take care to write them all myself, and 
that they shall be well worth the money. 

Daudley. Nonsense ! you do not mean 
that your people at the " Bravo " are so 
unprincipled as that I 

Bludyer. Unprincipled I the word is 
rather strong, my lord : but do exactly as 
you please. Nobody forces you to adver- 
tise with us ; only do not, for the future, 
ask me to assist at the reading of your 
poems any more, that 's all. 

Daudley {aside. Unconscionable scoun- 
drel ! ). Come, come, Bludyer, here 's the 
five-pound note ; you are very welcome to 
take it — 

Bludyer. To my proprietors, of course. 
You do not fancy it is for mef 

47 



READING A POEM 

Daudley. Not in the least degree; 
pray take it and lay it out for me. 

Bludyee. Entre nous, I wish it were 
for me; for between ourselves, I am 
sadly pressed for money ; and if you could, 
out of our friend Bogle's heap, lend me 
five pounds for myself — indeed, now, you 
would be conferring a very great obliga- 
tion upon me. I will pay you, you know, 
upon my honour as a gentleman. 

Daudley. Not a word more; here is 
the money, and pray pay me or not, as it 
suits you. 

Bludyee. Thank you, Daudley; the 
turn shall not be lost, depend upon it; 
and if ever you are in want of a friend in 
the press, count upon Jack Bludyer, and 
no mistake. {Exit Bludyee, with Ms hat 
very much on one side.) 

Enter Yellowplush. 

Daudley. Well, Charles, you scoun- 
drel, you are a literary man, and know 
the difficulty of composition. 

48 



READING A POEM 

Chaeles. I b' leave you, my lord. 

Daudley. Well, sir, what do you think 
of my having written a poem of fifty lines, 
while those fellows were here all the time 
chattering and talking to me? 

Chaeles. Is it posbil? 

Daudley. Possible? Egad, you shall 
hear it — just listen. (Reads.) 

" The Song of the Flower-Pot. 

(The ' Flower-pot ' was presented to the writer 
by the Lady Blanche Bluenose.) 

My little gentle flower-pot, 

Upon my turret flaunting free — " 



[As Ms lordship is reading his poem, the 
mirtain drops. The ' ' Castalian Maga- 
zine " of the next iveek contains a flaming 
2mff tipon LoED Daudley' s ^'Passion- 
Flowers'' ; hut the " Weekly Bravo'' 
has a furious attack tipon the tvork, be- 
cause LoED Daudley refused to ad- 
vance a third five-potmd note to the 

4 49 



READING A POEM 

celebrated Bludyer. After the crit- 
ique, his lordship advances the five- 
pound note. And, at a great public 
dinner, where my Lord Daudley is 
called upo7i to speah to a toast, he dis- 
courses upon the tvell-Jcnoiim sentiment — 

Tlie independence of the press! 
It is like the air tve breathe : 
Without it we die.~\ 



m 



